He screams for several minutes before Alex opens the door, then strolls right in as if he’s lived there for years. Cats are strange that way. They seek you out. They know. And this cat is no exception. He knows Alex will let him in and he knows he will let him stay.

It’s hard to tell if he’s a stray or not. His head seems larger than normal, makes him look wild. No collar and hungry, he enters the kitchen, brushes up against the refrigerator and screams to be fed, marking his territory along the way. He raises his tail by the antique chair, the semicircular one with the rich green upholstery. Alex can’t see the spray, but the cat has huge balls, no way is he neutered. Tomorrow the apartment will reek of garlic and Windex, a rancid tomcat smell.

Alex puts some water in a bowl, fixes him hamburger in the microwave. The cat screams, rubs Alex’s legs as he drains the fat into an empty spaghetti sauce can and shreds the meat. Alex admires him as he eats. His manners aren’t bad, the food doesn’t spread to the floor, but he eats fast. He’s hungry. And white, so white he glows, with golden eyes and grey areas where the dirt’s em-bedded.

Alex steps out into the night air to see a neighbor. She knows every cat in the apartment complex, takes in the strays and finds them homes, euthanizes them when the need arises.

The evening is brisk. Three cats gaze out her window at him. He knocks and rings the bell. No answer. He tries again, watching the cats. They don’t even flinch. If she were home they’d tip him off. They’d look at her slipping on a gown or cursing the late call.

He takes his time coming back, notices the full moon. Maybe it’s to blame for his unexpected guest. On a clear night the moon has an iridescent quality; the deeper places where the craters lie appear a light grey.

Alex’s grandfather told him that the moon is full of cheese. The astronauts found only dust. He thinks about the dusty cat. He must have come from somewhere past the creek and trees where the coyotes prowl and howl under the same moon. He listens. Too early for coyotes.

Inside the cat screams hello. Alex pens a note to the cat lady. He kicks off his sandals and takes his time, describes the cat well. The cat nuzzles his chin against Alex’s bare feet as he writes, screams when he goes out the door a second time. Alex folds the note in half and holds a thumbtack in the same hand. He can tack it to her door.

This time of year the temperature drops as soon as the sun disappears. The moon seems fuller now. An engine guns a warning as Alex gazes up. A truck nearly cuts him down. Everyone’s in a hurry.

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